


Sunday Morning

by lady_deathangel



Category: Pitch Perfect (2012)
Genre: American Football, F/F, Hangover, Massage, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 18:51:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_deathangel/pseuds/lady_deathangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They all had that one thing. Beca made mash-ups, Jesse was a movie nerd, and Chloe was an NFL fanatic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday Morning

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited to have finished this, I can't even tell you. I ship Beca/Chloe like nobody's business (still so upset they weren't endgame) and thought I HAD to write at least one fic in celebration of how awesome they are. Also, I have to say that it was really fun to write about a female American football fan because I happen to be one myself. I'm also a reluctant Falcons fan, damn them and their inability to perform well in the playoffs. So I definitely feel poor Chloe's pain.
> 
> This was beta'ed by the lovely, wonderful, incandescent Li. I tinkered a bit after I got it back so any remaining mistakes are mine.

After a long night of free shots and drunken karaoke, the last thing Beca wanted was to be jolted awake by a strangled scream. It was exactly what happened, though, and she sat up so quickly she could practically feel her brain rattle around in her skull like a ping-pong ball.

“Ohmygod,” she groaned, slamming her eyes shut and pressing a hand to her mouth. “Who’s dying? What’s happening?”

Silence. Beca swallowed hard a couple of times, choking back the urge to vomit by sheer force of will, and blinked her eyes open. The first thing she noticed was that the room was empty. That meant that someone was probably getting murdered somewhere else in the house. Beca couldn’t really bring herself to be too concerned about it, though, because that same someone hadn’t pulled the curtains closed.

Bright, winter sunlight poured through the huge, bay windows that overlooked the beach outside. Usually, Beca could appreciate the view. At that moment, she wanted it to disappear whether by nuclear winter or closed blinds, she didn’t honestly care.

“Oh, come _on_! Are you fucking blind?”

The shout should’ve been muffled by walls and distance, but Chloe’s voice still managed to lodge itself in Beca’s ears like an ice pick.

At least that explained the scream from earlier. No one was dying, the Falcons were probably just losing. That should’ve been a relief; instead, Beca knew right away that there’d be no more peace until the game was over. Maybe not even then. Chloe, for as laid back as she was about most things, was kind of hardcore about football. Beca didn’t get it because she thought organized sports were ridiculous, but whatever. They all had that one thing. Beca made mash-ups, Jesse was a movie nerd, and Chloe was an NFL fanatic.

And, as it turned out, a huge fan of the Atlanta Falcons. That may or may not have influenced her decision to attend Barden and stick around after graduation to pursue her master’s. She wasn’t telling but Beca had her suspicions.

Beca’d honestly forgotten about the whole football thing. They hung out as much as their busy schedules would let them, but between the Bellas for Beca, schoolwork for Chloe, and both of their not-so-successful attempts at dating, it wasn’t like they spent very many Sunday mornings together. Considering how much Chloe’d had to drink last night and the fact that they’re _supposed to be on vacation_ , Beca really couldn’t have guessed she’d be woken up by a red-headed sweetheart screaming obscenities at a bunch of jocks.

At some point, Beca would stop underestimating everyone she knew and learn to expect the unexpected. Today? Not that day.

There was a thump in the hallway and then Beca’s bedroom door slammed open. Amy stood in the doorway, bleary-eyed and half-dressed with what looked like a quarter of a parrot tangled in her hair.

“Beca. Beca, you have to intervene,” she said.

Beca squinted and watched Amy sway on her feet and then catch herself on the doorjamb.

“Amy . . . are your eyes even open right now?”

“What?”

“Are you _still drunk_?”

Amy shrugged and said, “Maybe. Probably, yeah. Don’t care. Just make it stop.”

She moaned the last word in a kind of forlorn way that made Beca snort and then realize, yeah, not a good idea when she had no idea if she might start projectile vomiting at any minute.

Amy made vaguely threatening fingers in Beca’s general direction and then turned and shuffled off. Beca heard the door down the hall open, the muffled voices of Cynthia Rose, Stacie, and someone who sounded suspiciously male, and then nothing. Well, nothing but a loud groan coming from the living room.

Beca flopped onto her back and stared up at the ceiling.

“This is your life,” she told herself. “You go on trips with a bunch of girls. You sing in an a capella group. _Unironically_. And sometimes your friends suck.”

To be fair, Beca’d known from the beginning how this would end. The middle part she wasn’t so sure on. Like, would she survive the initial moments of painful consciousness without crying into her pillow? Would she manage to stand up without falling over? Would she still be wearing last night’s clothes when she rolled out of bed?

Yes, sort of, and no because she was mostly naked, as it turned out.

But the part where she had to drag her hungover ass out to Chloe to try and convince her to keep it down? An inevitability. Partly, Beca knew, because she was the only one Chloe listened to when she got like this. But mostly because their friends had been throwing Beca and Chloe at each other for months hoping something might stick. And no matter how often Beca insisted she was pretty, you know, into dick and no matter how much Chloe laughed it off and said Beca was just a friend, nobody listened.

Hell, Beca barely listened to herself anymore. Because sure, okay, blowjobs were great. And being fucked was okay. Dudes were pretty neat with their muscles and their stubble and stuff. Jesse’d been awesome, every guy since then not so much, but yeah. Guys. Men. Yes.

Only also girls.

Not necessarily all girls. Beca didn’t get lady-boners for just anyone. There was just something about the length of a neck, the curve of a waist, the fullness of a mouth, that did things to her. Sexy things. In her pants.

She’d mentioned it to Chloe exactly once and Chloe’d gotten this faraway look on her face, wistful and lustful at once, and said, “ _Right_? Girls are amazing.”

Which, if Beca hadn’t known about the bisexuality thing before that, there would’ve been no doubts after.

So there was some give when it came to Beca’s sexuality and she knew Chloe didn’t discriminate based on what junk a person was packing. But that didn’t mean they were going to hook up. They were buddies. Pals. And this wasn’t a porno where that was just a euphemism for “two chicks who are totally gonna make out, like, any second”.

Not that it mattered. Anytime there was a Chloe related _anything_ , Beca was first to end up on the scene. Sometimes it was her choice but mostly it was their friends urging her to go work her Chloe-related magic. It had become so routine, Beca barely even bothered putting clothes on anymore.

Somebody’d left a ratty old t-shirt hanging off the back of the desk chair. Beca grabbed it on her way out and yanked it on, figuring if she flashed anyone in the process it was probably only a matter of time before they saw her tits anyway. Modesty, Beca had learned, wasn’t exactly a hot commodity with the Bellas. It wasn’t just a Chloe thing, either.

There was no one in the hall, though, and Beca hung a right and made her way out into the living room.

Chloe was on the couch in front of a gigantic flat-screen, eyes glued to the action. It didn’t come as a surprise that she was in her underwear, cross-legged on the cushion with her hair hanging around her shoulders in a fluffy mess. Mascara and eyeliner were smeared around her eyes like a bandit’s mask, and her lips looked a little chapped from where she’d probably been gnawing on them in frustration.

It hit Beca like a slap to the face that Chloe was beautiful. Like, not in the way she usually was when her hair was perfect and she looked immaculate and sunny and sweet. But like this, disheveled and tense with her brow furrowed and her hands flailing at her sides, she was gorgeous. Like a warrior goddess or something and oh no, Beca was not going to let her mind start doing the “let us wax poetic about someone we care about” thing.

It had been bad enough when she started mentally composing odes to Jesse’s smile. She and Chloe weren’t even dating.

Something happened on screen. Beca watched the football bounce across the grass while several players tried to jump on it. Chloe leapt to her feet, arms outstretched.

“No, no, no, are you _serious_? Oh my god, did you coat your hands in grease before the game? Hang onto the fucking ball!”

“Whoa,” Beca muttered.

Chloe whirled around, hair flying out behind her like a tangled banner.

“Oh, shit,” she said, voice going soft. “Did I wake you?”

Beca couldn’t quite stop her lips from curling up at Chloe’s honest distress.

“You could say that,” she said. “You could also say you yelled the whole house out of bed and for, like, two minutes there I thought someone had let a serial killer in.”

A flush colored the base of Chloe’s neck and crept up to her cheeks, splotchy and endearing. She hunched her shoulders and winced.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Beca shrugged and walked around the couch.

“It’s cool. You can make it up to me with a hangover cure.”

Chloe brightened and practically bounced back onto her seat before waving Beca over.

“Totally. I can so do that.”

She patted the space between her thighs and Beca tried not to think about how suggestive this could be. You know, if this _were_ a porno. If they were those chicks. Beca swallowed around the sudden, awkward lump of sexual tension in her throat and sat down on the floor. Chloe’s rounded, boney little knees bracketed Beca’s shoulders and her body was a line of warmth at her back.

“Okay,” Chloe said. “Close your eyes. Need me to turn the TV down?”

Beca gave a shake of her head and waited until Chloe’s fingers found her temples to blow out a breath.

Chloe had been born with a gift. And it wasn’t her amazing voice or her sexy body or her sparkling personality. It was the way she could practically leech a hangover away from another person with a little massage.

It was a trick Beca rarely took advantage of. She wasn’t a very touchy person. Not intimately. Not in any way that meant someone’s hands on her for prolonged periods of time. Letting Jesse in had taken time and even after, the sex had been a process. Not doing it, really, but getting to a place where Beca was actually into it as more than just a thing people did when they were dating.

Sometimes, though, Beca needed to be touched. It just so happened that half of those times were accompanied by a throbbing, alcohol-induced headache and if Chloe was around to help, Beca usually accepted the gesture.

And then, occasionally, Beca solicited it herself. Because she needed it and because Chloe was the reason she wasn’t sleeping last night off in the first place.

Chloe always started at Beca’s temples, rubbing slow circles that started soft and then increased in pressure until the sharp, throbbing had receded to a dull ache. Then she’d move lower, massaging the top of Beca’s neck, then the base, and finally her shoulders, squeezing and releasing until the tension was gone. It didn’t last more than five or ten minutes at the most on a normal day.

Apparently this wasn’t a normal day.

Things started as usual - strong, talented fingers coaxing the ache from behind Beca’s eyes and neck and shoulders - but Chloe was distracted by the game and so when the massage normally would’ve ended, she kept touching. Her hands skimmed over Beca’s bare arms, the back of her neck, the length of her spine. She’d trail the backs of her fingers down Beca’s biceps to the sensitive bend of her elbow, and then lightly drag her fingernails back up.

It tickled at first and Beca would’ve squirmed away except it felt good, too. Amazing, even. Her whole scalp tingled, and she could feel goosebumps popping up along her skin. When Chloe dragged her hands down Beca’s sides and back up, Beca had to clench her teeth to keep from making a high-pitched noise.

The whole time, Chloe mumbled behind her about bad calls, blown routes, bad passes, and shoddy defenses. Her voice was just a babbling brook at the very edge of Beca’s awareness, present and delightful but not what Beca was focused on.

It wasn’t until Chloe’s hands found their way to Beca’s hair, combing through the strands and scratching at her scalp, that Beca finally blew out a heavy breath. A soft moan followed on its heels and the brook dried up.

Chloe went still behind her and Beca would’ve frozen in place if she hadn’t been nothing but a puddle of goo on the floor.

“Don’t stop,” Beca finally murmured.

There was a sharp inhalation but a moment later, Chloe’s hands were back in action. They slid through Beca’s hair, down the sides of her neck, and landed on her shoulders. They kneaded the muscle there but without the focus and purpose of before. This was just an excuse to touch, to make Beca feel good. And god did it ever.

The cushion at Beca’s back shifted with Chloe and Beca couldn’t tell if she’d moved closer or further back until those hands shifted lower. Now they were massaging the stretch of muscle over Beca’s chest, far enough away from her breasts to feel like a tease but close enough to make the intention clear.

Beca let her head fall back into Chloe’s lap, eyes closed and lips pressed tight to keep from making the noises that wanted to spill out.

One of Chloe’s hands stayed splayed across Beca’s chest. The other slid up the exposed length of Beca’s throat and caressed the skin there.

“Beca,” she said, voice throaty and breathless.

Beca blinked up at her and tried to decipher the look on Chloe’s face. It was a little nervous, a little unsure, and a lot turned on. Which, hey! That was kind of how Beca felt. Well, mostly turned on. But at least they were on the same page.

The ball was clearly in Beca’s court, here. Chloe didn’t want to push but she didn’t want to be pushed away, either. That was something Beca would think about later. In that moment, she just arched her back and said, “Don’t stop.”

Chloe’s eyes flashed with heat and she let her hands trail back down, palms heavy and hot against Beca’s skin even through the thin fabric of the shirt. Beca’s nipples were hard, her breasts feeling fuller and more desperate for touch than she could ever remember. She wasn’t even that into having them played with normally, but right then she needed Chloe’s hands on her.

It seemed to take an eternity; Chloe was pretty good at the teasing thing, it turned out. She inched her fingers lower, then pulled them back up with a gentle scrape of nail to send liquid heat spiraling down Beca’s spine. Over and over, her thumbs sometimes catching on the exposed skin stretched tight over Beca’s collarbones. It was intense, left Beca biting her lips and gripping her thighs just to have something to hold onto.

When Chloe finally grazed her palms over the tips of Beca’s breasts, they both let out small, needy noises. Beca’s toes curled when Chloe pinched and rolled her nipples between her fingers. It sparked against all of her nerve endings and made her cunt throb in time with her heartbeat.

“You look amazing,” Chloe breathed, awe-stricken in a way that made Beca want to blush.

There probably wasn’t enough blood left in her face for that, though, so instead Beca just groaned and turned to hide her face against Chloe’s thigh.

“I’m serious,” Chloe insisted. “You always do. I can’t-”

A loud clatter from the hallway cut her off. Beca’s eyes flew open and she and Chloe pulled apart just in time for Cynthia Rose to wander in, shorts rolled at the waist and the sleeves of a floppy sweatshirt covering her fingertips.

She paused just inside the living room and stared first at Beca, who was sitting awkwardly on the floor with her arms folded over her chest, and then at Chloe who was fire-engine red and breathing hard.

“What’d I miss?” Cynthia Rose asked.

Somehow, Beca was guessing by the tone of her voice that she wasn’t asking about the game.

“Um,” Chloe muttered, “Fumble. At the one yard line.”

Cynthia Rose sighed and walked over to flop down on the couch.

“Fucking Falcons,” she said. “I swear.”

“Right?” Chloe cried.

And then they were off to the races, talking stats and using jargon that Beca only kind of understood. She felt a little lost and left out and seriously confused by what had just happened. Her body was in a state of suspended animation, desperate for something she really wasn’t sure she could – or should – ask for.

After a few minutes of sitting there, trying to figure out what she’d done and what she wanted, Beca eventually lurched to her feet. She had every intention of going back to bed and ignoring all of her problems, but a hand around her wrist stopped her. Beca forced herself to look at Chloe.

“You should stay,” Chloe said, and she definitely wasn’t just talking about the game.

“I don’t know anything about football,” Beca said.

Chloe shrugged. “I’ll teach you.”

One corner of Beca’s mouth pulled up in a smile. “I don’t even _like_ football.”

“But you like me,” Chloe said.

It sounded confident but there was a question in her eyes. And yeah, okay, _fuck_. Beca liked Chloe. Beca _liked_ Chloe. And Beca wanted to get her hands and mouth all over Chloe’s body and make her scream like the Falcons had just won the goddamn Super Bowl.

“Fine,” Beca said with a huff.

Chloe beamed and pulled Beca down onto her lap. Cynthia Rose coughed next to them but didn’t say anything. When Beca peeked, though, she was grinning to herself.

Beca rolled her eyes, nestled back into Chloe’s body, and waved a hand at the screen.

“Okay. Explain.”

Chloe pressed her smile briefly into Beca’s shoulder and then launched herself into an explanation of the finer points of the sport.

Most of it went right over Beca’s head but it was worth it anyway. After all, if Chloe was this passionate about a game, Beca could only imagine what she’d be like about other things. Sexy and romantic things. It made something hot and wanting curl up in Beca’s belly, but she ignored it for the moment, soaked up the warmth of Chloe’s embrace, and watched the screen.

 


End file.
